Poet Posing on Prose Platform

Tag Archive: Creative Writing

The Value of Nightmares

An eye, very like this, seen first in the film “Spiral Staircase”, used to wake me to sitting in terror.  The eye (through a hole) filled the screen prior to each murder of women in boarding house, each with a different disability. Later in life while enjoying/enduring a psychotic episode, I reassured myself by believing there is always someone watching over me. Or Someone.

Another series of nightmares had me in a lift/elevator shaft, jumping from side to side above the lift, grabbing onto wrought iron walls,  my parents in pursuit as the lift rose up and down, but never squashing me. Have read this as no matter how high or low the bipolar takes me, I am safe from being crushed. Rising above and outside the moving box.

For me, the most valuable nightmare is/was the one that came true in real life as I followed my dreams on waking.  I use it now to reassure myself that I am on track – the dirt running track in the following poem – and with the cheering from friends responding to David Collins-Rivera review of MIXED FORTUNES as posted on tumblr (see below) leads me to the comfort that I am on the final stretch. (For how this worked out in real life one would have to read “Life Before Lithium” on Smashwords. ) Now I am applying it to my writing life.

A witch used to chase me

through a three dimensioned maze

always found an opening

but not the way out

before the maze disappeared

and the witch

turned into a tribe of gypsies

in full cry behind me

as I sped

from village hall

up the main road

between disused railway tracks

to the field

where pig-lilies grew.

Up the bank

across the recreation ground

up clay-slip slope

and stony path

dirt running track

gravel road

pine trees

by gate of school

to disappear.

 

But one night,

the night they went

forever,

I made it.

Fell into the arms

of the waiting headmaster

deafened by the cheering school

the witch and the gypsies

demons of my night

let me sleep

undisturbed.

http://wordacrosstime.tumblr.com/post/162945342034/mixed-fortunes-work-in-progress

Idling Until Ready to Shift Gears

Though very little posted here lately, the old brain box has been busy. Most active on waking with streams of ideas for posts, for conversations drifting from one topic to the next, but always coming back to the next stage of my novel.

Set in chronological order, written in present tense, each stage/scene/action is bounded within time and space. and am at a stage where I know where I want/need a character to travel in order to progress the story. Spending many moments on exploring the external and internal motivations driving him in the desired direction.

He is now 65 years of age and setting out on a journey which will take him to Cape Town, perhaps Durban and then onto Western Australia before returning to his home in Dumfries, Scotland. His wife is 16 years younger than he, they have two daughters the youngest being 17 years of age.

Am wondering whether to kill off his wife? Or discover the love of his life (his wife) has been unfaithful leading to the possibility the youngest daughter is not his. If I am ti kill her off, I will need to have her either become very ill; be involved as a victim in a fatal accident. Whatever, it has to be traumatic for him.

All suggestions welcome. 

It is not that I am not busy, just pondering over which thread to pick up and pull out onto a page. Looks as if I shall have to pick up one of my many sharpened pencils and tackle the problem on paper and see which flows more freely.

Unless you suggest something I have yet to consider? Which would you rather read?

Regular Postings?

qtq80-TEE7l6 Have yet to work out what routine best works for me. I will not be broadcasting this post as I am ashamed it is taking so long to update.

Update? Am editing a section of my CWIP with thee aim of submitting it to an award next year. It will take me that long to go over and over and over till it will be the best I can do. Am busy.

 

MAYBE a monthly post? Regular as King tides? No promise, even to myself, but we will see.

Blast from the Past

Searching Google Images with a view to working on Smashword covers, several of which need replacing and I came across this

st-lawrences-bodmin

In 1963, this was St Lawrence’s, Bodmin. The first place within which I found asylum after what turned out to be a totally inadequate suicide attempt. Also the first creative writing experience since childhood. I had an idea I wanted to put down on paper and the psychiatrist gave me permission to stay up and out of bed for as long as it took. Believe me, that did not go down well with the night nurse. One of those pieces of writing which others said gave them goosebumps; which somewhere along the way I lost the copy. The underlying message read by the psychiatrist the next morning was given the choice of an easy way (asking for help) or my own way (finding my own way on my own) I would choose the latter. So that was my ticket to discharge.

Trying to recall which hospital it was in which I conducted a social experiential. Every morning the toast for breakfast was cold and hard as a rock. I asked for permission to use the toaster for a fresh, warm slice of toast. OH No. What would happen if EVERYONE wanted to do that? Persisted as never in the history of the human race has everyone ever agreed to do the same thing at the same time (was a good scene for sci-fi story read long ago). Upshot, first morning, yes, a rush for the toaster. Second morning and each thereafter, only two of us cared enough how we like our toast to make the effort.

I don’t know what I am trying to say in here. Just waffling? The Crows have lost tonight’s game. It is Saturday night. It has been raining … again. I have been all day getting a new/replacement virus checker program up and working.

 

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